Season VII, Episode I  It Takes a Village
by J.Gig.Wilson
Summary: In the four months since the sixth season finale, a lot of tumult has rocked the Behavioural Analysis Unit to its core. . .  Please let me know what you think, so I'll have an idea of where to go with this thing.
1. Chapter 1

Criminal Minds

Season VII, Episode I – _It Takes a Village_

Chapter I – _Washington, D.C._ – _September, 2011_

The debate had lasted for hours. Adrenalized by the crisis atmosphere in the room, and, indeed, all over Capitol Hill, senator after senator approached the goose-necked microphone to denounce in thrilling varieties of fiery language the issues each of them had with the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit following a disastrous few months in that branch of the Bureau of Investigation.

As Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Jareau sat in the hallway outside the room in which the Senate Standing Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs was convening, she found herself reflecting on the events of the past four months. This should have been a great time in her life. She had a wonderful man in her life and a beautiful three-year-old son. She had returned to the job she loved, the function she wanted to perform in life. That was nothing short of miraculous itself. More than that, she had returned to her friends – her family. She knew things would be different, given what she knew about Emily Prentiss' 'death', but still, she could not understand how things got so bad so suddenly.

Inside the conference room, as the debate was concluding, the senators on the committee were looking to direct their anger and hard line of questioning at the people responsible for this mess in which they found themselves.

"The Standing Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs will now begin the process of questioning." The committee chairman, Senator John Van Dyke (R – Nevada), a man whose intimidating physical stature was matched only by his intellect, stated. "The Chair calls to the stand Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, Interim Chief of the Behavioural Analysis Unit."

Out in the hallway, as JJ sat uncomfortably in the utiliatarian chairs outside the conference room, a security guard opened the door to the committee, ushering JJ inside. After sitting down, being sworn in, and various other formalities were undertaken, the questioning began.

"There's not really a good place to begin here, but let's get the ball rolling. Tell us about your return to the BAU." Senator Van Dyke said in the grandfatherly tone he used to disabuse people of the notion he was a monster.

"Well, as you know, Mr. Chairman, I had been transferred to the State Department. However, SSA David Rossi suggested in May that it would be more expensive to keep Agent Ashley Seaver on with the team, being a junior agent who needs extra training. That, in the interest of cutting costs, it made more sense for me to return. My transfer request was approved by the State Department and I returned to the BAU in the first week of June."

"What happened with Agent Seaver?" chimed in Senator David Adler (D – Connecticut), who, because of his age and dashing appearance was widely referred to as the Paul Newman of Capitol Hill.

"After careful consideration on the part of Agent Aaron Hotchner, who was and still is acting as the Section Chief in Agent Erin Strauss' absence, Agent Seaver was transferred to the New York Field Office, where they had both the time and money to spend on giving her the training she needs."

"Clear up something, Agent," demanded Senator Casey Elliott (D – Oregon), who, at the age of thirty-four, and with two years' experience in the Upper House, had already gained a reputation as a pit-bull on every committee on which he'd served. "Dave Rossi doesn't have the authorization to bring in people and transfer others, does he?"

"Well," JJ explained, pausing momentarily to cough, partly because there was something in her throat, and partly because of how intimidating Casey Elliott is to deal with, "Agent Hotchner, who was at the time serving as both the Unit Chief for the BAU and the Section Chief, designated some of his tasks to others in the Unit, to ease his burden."

"When did it become evident that Agent Morgan was conducting an unauthorized, independent investigation into the terrorist Ian Doyle?" Inquired Senator Van Dyke.

Watching all of this hearing play out on television, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, still confined to a hospital bed, didn't listen to Agent Jareau's response to that last question, but he didn't need to. He knew as well as anybody what the answer would be. _Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia discovered that SSA Morgan had re-opened the case file into SSA Emily Prentiss' death and she brought that to Agent Hotchner's attention_.

Agent Hotchner knew he shouldn't worry. He knew he couldn't – not yet, anyway. But he couldn't help himself. His beloved team was in shambles and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. All he could do was watch this insanity play out on television and wait for the nurse to give him his next sponge-bath. Haley's sister would be bringing Jack to the hospital this afternoon. That would break up the monotony. Hotch hadn't wanted his son to see him right after it happened. He looked so frail and he knew how impressionable young people are. It would be good to see Jack.

Right now, Agent Hotchner had to do something else. He had to go to the rest-room and this time he was determined to do it by himself. To hell with the nurse. He sat up for the first time that day. He looked around and just wished he could be free of this hellish situation. He wished there was something he could have done to prevent his being here in the first place. Deep down he knew there wasn't. It wasn't his fault he had a congenitally weak heart. How had this not showed up on the myriad of medical tests he underwent prior to joining the bureau, he thought. Well, it didn't matter now. All that mattered now was standing up and making the short trip over to the rest-room as painlessly as possible.

Evidently, it wasn't possible. As soon as he stood up, he could feel his heart giving out on him again. It was the same feeling he'd had on that fateful morning twelve weeks prior when he informed his friend and colleague Derek Morgan of his immediate suspension.

Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan, sitting in his apartment, also watching the hearings on television, was more invested in them than Aaron Hotchner was. Morgan's career was on the line. Depending on Agent Jareau's answers, he might never be allowed to work in the FBI again. In his heart of hearts he understood completely that what he did was wrong, unethical, a complete breach of protocol, and illegal. He knew that. But he felt that what Agents Hotchner and Jareau did was, although perhaps legal, a complete breach of trust and friendship.

He thought he knew the two of them. He couldn't claim to know anything anymore. Not after the summer he put in, the discoveries he made. And that was what so steamed him about the actions of his 'friends'. Friends don't tell each other one of their other friends is dead when she actually isn't. As he watched the continuous coverage on C-SPAN, Derek Morgan was going through a lot of emotions, but happiness wasn't one of them.

At his remote cabin on Lake Pleasant, Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi didn't get TV reception, nor did he need to. He went here to get away from things and to focus on his writing. However, on this particular autumn morning, the last thing Dave Rossi was focused on was his writing. He kept blaming himself for the way this whole mess happened.

While there was plenty of blame to go around here, perhaps Dave Rossi was something of a catalyst. If he hadn't offered JJ the option of coming back to the BAU, then Morgan wouldn't have overheard the conversation between Hotchner and JJ that led him to believe that Prentiss wasn't dead. If Morgan hadn't overheard that conversation then he wouldn't have gone on a wild – and unauthorized – goose chase to capture Ian Doyle and locate Prentiss. And if Morgan hadn't gone off on that investigation that was so terribly mishandled by Interpol, then the BAU wouldn't be in this mess and Aaron Hotchner might not have had a heart attack.

Rossi was upset that JJ and Hotch kept that secret from everyone else – especially after those god-awful grief assessments – but he was more understanding than Morgan, probably because he was less directly affected by this whole mess. He wasn't suspended and he still had a job in the FBI.

SSA David Rossi needed to clear his head, so he took his dog, Mudgie, and headed out on the lake to do some fishing. With the deadline looming for his latest book, maybe the opportunity to clear his thoughts would give him some inspiration. Maybe.

Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia had been so hurt when she found out that JJ and Hotch – JJ especially – lied to them about faking Prentiss' death, it almost prevented her from showing the joy she felt when she found out Emily wasn't, in fact, dead.

Today, the day on which JJ was testifying before the Senate about how things went so wrong in Morgan's investigation, Garcia found herself in her den at work, the only team member of the BAU who had to come in to work today. She was watching JJ testify on television and couldn't help but weep. She was crying in part due to feeling sorry for the stress JJ was going through and in part because of how upsetting it was to her that her closest friend couldn't tell her that her _other _closest friend wasn't dead as she had thought. Garcia was, to say the least, conflicted.

Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid sat glued to the television in his utilitarian apartment outside Quantico, VA, mesmerized by these proceedings in the Senate. Of all the members of the BAU, Reid was, at the present time, the most emotionally detached. It's not that he didn't care for the people involved in this mess, or care about the problem itself. It's just that Reid, with an IQ that rivals Albert Einstein's, has a way of dealing with situations like this in a way that people with average IQs don't.

When Reid first found out that JJ and Hotch had lied to the rest of the team regarding Prentiss' demise, he was certainly hurt, but he didn't deal with his emotions by crying, putting his fist through a wall, or other reactions typical to finding out you've been deceived. Reid, who was so terribly upset when he first found out that Prentiss had died, was so unnerved and unsettled coming to the realization that when JJ held him in her arms as he wept all those months ago knew then that she was telling her friend and colleague a bald-faced lie. For someone with this level of intelligence, Spencer Reid rarely found himself unable to speak or think, but that is the condition in which he found himself today.

Back the FBI Headquarters in Quantico, VA, as the coffee machine burped up its' last bit of brew, Section Chief Erin Strauss, having recently returned to work after a battle with cancer, was formulating ways to bring the much-storied Behavioural Analysis Unit back from over the brink.

_More to Come. . ._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II – _Quantico, VA – May, 2011_

_Another early meeting?_ Dr. Spencer Reid mused to himself as he went in for a 6:30AM meeting at the BAU offices, the second in as many weeks. At the last early meeting Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner had warned of changes. Reid hypothesized that those changes were going to be announced. Just forty-eight hours before this, Reid was asked if he wished to remain with the Behavioural Analysis Unit. He wasn't alone.

In the fortnight since that last early meeting, all the member of the BAU were asked if they wished to stay with the unit. All of them had said yes. But in these days of belt-tightening government-wide, saying yes to that kind of question was no guarantee that you would keep your job.

Reid, after pouring himself a cup of coffee, made his way over to the team briefing room. Seated at the table, in their usual positions were Morgan, Seaver, Rossi, and Garcia.

"Mr. Punctuality is behind schedule. It's 6:29." Morgan teased his friend.

"Well, I'm not _late_, per se." Reid explained, seating himself in his usual position at the round table.

"I'm kidding, Reid." Morgan declared, forgetting momentarily that of all the traits Dr. Spencer Reid possesses, a strong sense of humour isn't one of them.

Thankfully, the team members didn't have to engage in further awkward small talk, because as Reid sat down, Hotch entered the room and stood behind an unoccupied chair.

"I appreciate everyone coming in early again. At our last meeting I made it clear that potential changes were imminent. Well, those changes have come to fruition." Agent Hotchner stated in his brusque, matter-of-factly tone he used to cover up his emotions in virtually all professional situations.

The others seated at the table exchanged looks.

Penelope Garcia was especially worried. After losing JJ to the state department and losing Prentiss – period – she didn't know if she could handle another loss.

"After much discussion and consultation, Agent Seaver has informed me that she will be transferring to the New York Field Office by week's end. They are better equipped to handle an inexperienced agent at this time."

There was a psychological sigh of relief in all the other team members then. None of them were particularly attached to Seaver. After all, she'd only been with the BAU for a few months.

Ashley Seaver stood up and said all the usual things. _I've enjoyed my time here_, _I look forward to working with you in the future_, _I'll miss you all_. Dave Rossi had heard it all before in his thirty some-odd years with the bureau. Every time someone stood up and said those kinds of things, his opinion of that person suddenly lowered. He thought it was grand-standing and self-congratulatory and he didn't like it.

Having said that, he still felt obliged to give Seaver a hug and a kiss as she was leaving the team room to begin clearing out her desk. This next announcement was what Rossi was really looking forward too, since he'd arranged it.

"That isn't the only change." Hotch said without missing a beat, as though the announcement about Seaver leaving never even occurred.

Around the table, the tension rose again as the other members of the team wondered who else was leaving.

"However, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised at this change. Since we are losing one member, we need more man-power, so we're bringing back JJ." Hotch opened the door to the team room, gesturing for JJ to enter. She did so to an enthusiastic response.

As JJ, Garcia, Morgan, and Reid celebrated JJ's return and got caught up with each other's personal lives, Rossi took Hotch aside to have a private discussion.

"Are you alright, Aaron?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

"You can't fool me, Hotch. I've been doing this for thirty-five years. What is it?"

"Well, I'm effectively doing the work of two people since Strauss went on medical leave and I've got a six-year-old son at home who is my responsibility. I won't say it isn't taxing, but I'm coping with this." Hotch explained, both for Rossi's benefit and for his own. Hotch knew what he was saying wasn't true, but if he couldn't admit that to himself he sure as hell couldn't admit it to his friends. Truth be told he felt like crap and didn't look much better.

In the one week since Agent Jennifer Jareau had returned to the Behavioural Analysis Unit after several months away, nothing of great importance had happened. The team was sent to Little Rock, AR to track down a child rapist. Other than that, JJ's first week back on the job went smoothly. Until today.

She approached the door to Hotch's office tentatively. He hadn't gone with the team to Little Rock because he had to do Strauss' work as well and JJ knew her boss was operating under a lot of stress. She knocked quietly on the pane of glass beside the door.

"Come in." Hotch responded.

"Hey, Hotch. I need to talk."

"About what?"

"Prentiss."

Hotch grimaced. He knew this was a problem that he couldn't keep on the back burner forever, especially now that JJ was back. But at the same time he didn't want the added burden of having to deal with this mess now.

JJ continued, "I walk by that photo of her on the wall every morning and I can't believe it. I can't believe what we did. I just wish we didn't have to lie like this to our co-workers."

"We're only lying to protect Emily." Hotch reasoned.

"I know, it's just – I wish we could come clean and tell them the truth about Prentiss."

Morgan stuck his head through the door and indicated that Garcia was ready to brief the team on new cases. As the three of them made their way down the hall to the team room, JJ and Hotch wondered how long Morgan had been standing by the door.

Evidently, long enough to hear JJ referencing the fact that she wished they could tell the team the truth about Prentiss. And as Morgan lagged behind Hotch and JJ, he wondered what the truth was. He was confused by what he'd just overheard and asking questions about it would not have been a good move.

_More to Come. . ._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III – _Washington, D.C, - Autumn, 2011_

"What happened?" Was the first thing Aaron Hotchner said to Nurse Betty Babcock after coming-to in his Washington, D.C. hospital bed.

"You were a naughty boy," Babcock explained. Babcock was rough around the edges, to say the least. She'd started as a nurse in World War II and hasn't looked back. Her general appearance would indicate to anyone who met her that she has an extreme lack of vanity.

"You tried to get to the bathroom by yourself. You're muscles aren't strong enough to support you yet, young man." Babcock finished. She rarely regretted her decision not to have kids, because, for all intents and purposes, her patients were her children. After explaining that she'd given Hotchner is sponge-bath while he was unconscious, and peppering the sickly FBI agent with a series of medical questions, Betty Babcock left in a hurry, on her way to inflict herself on another poor soul. And with that, Aaron Hotchner was alone with his thoughts.

The TV in the room was off now. Hotchner was just recalling that day in early June when it all came crashing down. All the secrets and lies came to the forefront.

_Quantico, VA – June, 2011_

Penelope Garcia didn't really think much of it at the time, but in retrospect, perhaps she should have. Filing some paperwork on the computer, she happened to notice that the file on Emily Prentiss' death was still flagged as _open_. She just assumed that was because Ian Doyle was still at-large.

A few days later, after getting home from accompanying the team on a case in Sacramento, CA, she found herself missing Emily. She thought of how unfair life can be sometimes. _Ian Doyle should be the one buried in the ground, not Emily_. That's when she remembered that fleeting moment a few days prior when she saw that Emily's case file was still open. She opened the FBI database on her computer, clicked on Emily's file, and was shocked to see what she saw.

"Hotch," Garcia said, approaching SSA Hotchner's office like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.

"Garcia? What's the matter?" Hotch said, noticing how unmistakable it was that something was wrong in Garcia's world. It didn't take a profiler to see that.

"I don't know what to do." Penelope could feel the tears building up in her eyes, but she was determined not to let it show. It did, however.

"Penelope, have a seat." Hotch said, walking over to sit her down himself, then closing the door to his office. Since that incident with Morgan overhearing them, Hotch had become more careful about things like that.

"Hotch, I. . . I know." Penelope said.

"Pardon?" Hotch inquired, hoping that if he plead ignorance, this problem would simply go away.

"I know about Emily."

After one of those uncomfortably long pauses life sometimes throws your way, Hotchner replied simply, "Oh."As if Hotchner even needed to ask what it was specifically that Penelope knew.

"You need to understand why JJ and I handled the situation. Everybody's safety would have been –" Hotch didn't get to finish, but Penelope didn't need to hear whatever else he had to say.

"Hotch, I don't care why you did it, I'm just super, super over-the-moon that Emily's alive!" Penelope was experiencing such euphoria over being able to say with such a degree of confidence that Emily was alive, that she momentarily forgot the other reason she was there to talk to Agent Hotchner.

"Well, I'm glad you're glad. But I don't need to tell you, it is paramount that you not tell _anyone_ about this. For Emily's sake, and for ours." Hotch stated, adopting a professorial attitude that subordinates often found intimidating.

"Well, that's the other reason why I came to see you." Garcia explained, coming down quite quickly from cloud nine.

"The other reason?" This time Hotch truly had no idea what Garcia would have to offer.

"When I did some research into Emily's file, I discovered that, um, Morgan has been investigating her death too."

Hotch sat there, overwhelmed by what he'd just heard. _Damn it. Morgan did overhear JJ and I_.

What was worse is that Morgan was on his annual vacation right now and had been for the past week. He had told the rest of the team that he was going to Chicago to visit his mother, but with these new revelations, who knew where he was? One thing is for certain, Agent Aaron Hotchner and the rest of his team had a full-fledged crisis on their hands.

"Will?" Agent Jennifer Jareau said as she entered the suburban home where she lived with her partner and son.

"Hey." Will approached JJ with their son Henry in his arms.

Will couldn't help but take note of JJ's appearance. She always looked beautiful to him, but tonight, it looked as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

"Hey, little man." JJ said, taking Henry into her arms.

After getting Henry into bed, JJ and Will settled down in the kitchen to fix up a late dinner.

"Grilled cheese okay by you?" Will inquired, opening the refrigerator and thinking he should have made it out to the supermarket today.

"What?" JJ asked, feeling so tired she barely heard him.

"Could you have a grilled cheese sandwich, or what?" Will asked again, feeling sorry for the pressure under which JJ operates on a day-to-day basis.

"Yeah, that sounds fine."

"You want to talk?" Will asked, hoping doing so would help JJ decompress.

"No. I wish I could, but I can't. Just something confidential that Hotch and Garcia shared with me." Will's arms now wrapped gently around her, JJ turned around and continued. "I hope you understand that it's not that I don't want to tell you – in fact, I just want to scream it from the mountaintops – I just can't for our safety."

"JJ, you don't have to justify this for me. I get it. But if you need to talk, I'll be here for you. I love you."

JJ looked into Will's eyes and just thought of how much she loved him. After several minutes of passionate kissing, the two of them decided to skip dinner and retire to bed.

_More to come . . . _


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV – _Baghdad, Iraq – June, 2011_

"Here's your tea, lady," said the gruff, middle-aged proprietor of the Café Gaza in a thick middle-eastern accent, handing Emily Prentiss a cup of tea.

"Thank you," Prentiss said, mustering her best accent and speaking in the other man's native tongue. From this vantage point, in the corner of the restaurant, the supposedly deceased FBI agent commanded the best view in the place. She was seated diagonally across from the front door and could see every person who came and went from this rundown business in a country still struggling to rebuild following the horrors of war.

"Wow." Emily said in a low voice so as to not attract attention. In the fifteen some-odd years since she'd last spent any time in the middle-east, she'd forgotten how spicy the tea was. Good old, Tetley-brand tea was just one of the things she missed about that life she'd been forced to give up in March. At the top of that list were her friends. She especially resented that her friends had to go through thinking she was dead just so that they would be safe.

That was when the man with whom she was meeting appeared. She didn't know what Martin Connors looked like, but she had created a mental picture of him when she talked to him on her disposable cell phone the previous week.

Martin Connors was a lifer – about everything. He'd had a crew-cut since the Top 40 included songs by The Crew-cuts, and he'd stuck with it through thick and thin – literally. He'd has his first taste of government work as a legislative intern in Albany, part of a corps of eager young grad students and draft dodgers sucked into the lawmaking maw when the then speaker of New York State Assembly decided that what would make the legislative process more like the sausage-making process (to which it was always being compared) was professionalism – as if the main problem with either business was excessive amateurism. Now, forty-five years later, Martin Connors, the Assistant Deputy U.S. Ambassador to Iraq, enjoyed GS-18 status in the federal government, which meant he could only be dismissed from employment in the event of a prolonged thermonuclear conflict.

Connors made his way over to the table where Emily Prentiss, now under the alias Karen Hughes, was sitting.

"Karen?"

"Martin."

"Well, I've familiarized myself with your file, but I'm afraid there isn't much we can do at the embassy."

"I saw Ian Doyle again. He is here in Baghdad! What do you mean you can't do anything?" Emily demanded, her voice rising to a quasi-operatic shriek.

"According to the U.S. government, Ian Doyle doesn't exist – and for that matter, neither do you. Ian Doyle is off the grid. We can't track him. Unless you can give me some authoritative evidence that Ian Doyle is here in this city, there's nothing I can do." Martin Connors explained in his don't-you-know-common-sense-when-you-hear-it tone that he sometimes lapsed into.

"Well, I don't have anything else right now, Martin, but I'll try to get something more substantive to you." Emily said, feeling dejected that her own government couldn't do anything.

"You'll do no such thing. The very fact that we're having this meeting is a security threat. We're going to be re-locating you again. I want you to meet me at the consulate at 2:00AM tomorrow. We'll discuss the particulars then."

And in a flash, Martin Connors left, followed shortly thereafter by Karen Hughes, now a blonde.

_Lake Pleasant, VA – September, 2011_

"I was watching the hearings on TV. I figured you would be too, so I took a chance and stopped by." Jason Gideon explained as he took off his shoes upon entering David Rossi's lake-front cabin.

"Good to see you, Jason. Make yourself at home."

The two of them made their way into the den at Rossi's cabin, where Dave's dog, Mudgie was planted comfortably on the sofa. Jason Gideon, always one to notice the littlest details upon entering a room, looked around the room.

"You writing _another_ book? How many does that make?" Gideon said, noticing Rossi's typewriter and stack of paper sitting on a rustic looking desk in the corner of the room. Of all David Rossi's and Jason Gideon's differences, which were plentiful to say the least, one thing they had in common was a reluctance to participate in the technological revolution.

"What can I tell you?" Rossi replied sheepishly, knowing how his old friend and former colleague disliked how he had capitalized on his profession.

The two friends caught up over coffee in David Rossi's den. Jason as it turned out, lived in Lake Pleasant now, just a few miles up the road from David Rossi's cabin. Gideon liked the solitude – reading, cooking, thinking. It was a variety of happiness. Eventually, their conversation got back to the real reason Gideon was there.

"All I know is what I've read in the papers. Can you fill me in?" Gideon asked, although his question sounded more like a demand than anything else.

"Well, you know Morgan's been suspended? Well, what happened was Garcia came across this file, and. . ."

As David Rossi continued telling Jason Gideon the long and involved story of what happened and how the situation got so out of hand, Gideon couldn't believe what he was hearing. _The BAU might actually be shut down. Permanently. I just don't believe it_.

_Quantico, VA – June, 2011 _

JJ woke up and looked at the digital clock on her nightstand. It was 2:23AM. She was still wrapped in Will's arms from earlier in the night. She needed some fresh air. Slowly creeping out of bed, trying her hardest not to wake Will, she eventually tiptoed her way down the hallway, past Henry's room, downstairs, and eventually, outside. She stood on the porch of their suburban house and ponderedthe events of the day.

_Sure, Morgan can take things into his own hands sometimes, but this? I can't believe that even Morgan would put his own life – and ours – in jeopardy like this. _

JJ couldn't stand that Ian Doyle was still out there, and it was still her fear that Doyle would make good on his threat to take away the only thing Prentiss cared about – her family. That kept her up at nights and made her ill. She was especially worried that Doyle might now find out that Prentiss isn't really dead. JJ was determined to protect Will and Henry no matter what. It was moments like this when she missed Prentiss the most, just having her there to talk to about her problems.

A sudden gust of wind brought JJ back down to earth. Realizing that the only thing she was wearing were a pair of pink, lace underpants, she quickly covered her breasts with her arms and scurried back inside, mortified to think anyone might have seen her.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V –_ Paris, France – June, 2011_

"Bonsoir, monsieur. Avez-vous une reservation?" Louis Plamondon asked when he saw Agent Derek Morgan standing patiently at the front desk at the Hôtel Atlantique in downtown Paris.

"What?" Morgan responded. The language barrier wasn't an issue he'd foreseen. Although the taxi driver who'd brought him from the airport to the hotel spoke with a thick accent, his English was, relatively speaking, pretty good.

"Tout mes excuses, monsieur. Vous parlez anglais."

"Oui." What little French Derek Morgan knew he'd learned while trying to pick up women at a Washington, D.C. foreign-movie house.

"Un moment. Je vais chercher quelqu'un qui parle anglais."

Morgan nodded his head politely. He wasn't sure what he was just told, but he took it to mean that the man he'd been talking to was going to go get someone who spoke English.

After a few moments, the hotel's manager, Gilles Parizeau came up to Morgan.

"Good evening, monsieur. Welcome to the Hôtel Atlantique. How may I be helping you this evening?"

Morgan was a bit taken aback by how well Parizeau spoke English.

"Hi. I'm with the FBI in the United States," he said, flashing his identification. In retrospect Morgan didn't know why he'd showed Parizeau his identification, or even told him what organization he was with. After all, he was doing something he shouldn't. By showing Gilles Parizeau his official identification and telling him who he was, Derek Morgan was trying to justify what he was doing for himself.

"I've always wanted to say I've met an FBI agent. And now I can." Parizeau said, with almost child-like glee, continuing "In what capacity may I assist you?"

"Well, I'll tell you how you can help me. I need to know if this woman," Morgan said, showing Parizeau a picture of Emily Prentiss, "ever stayed at this hotel."

"I'm surprised. I see so many faces in this line of work, but I do remember her. Her name was Amanda Little. But she checked out back in April. Pretty thing, she was. She had fantastic legs. As I recall, she was an avid fencer. Practiced that and other self-defence moves every day. Fencing sure is quite an intricate sport. You know, I once knew a guy. . ."

Parizeau, who'd been talking while looking down at his computer screen on the front desk, was discouraged when he looked up and saw that the nice man to whom he'd been speaking had left. _Why does that happen to me so much?_

_Washington, D.C. – September, 2011_

"So when Agent Hotchner took on Agent Strauss' job, he passed the buck to you?" Senator Barbara Menzies (R – Florida) asked of Agent Jennifer Jareau during the Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs hearings.

"No, that's not what I said. Agent Hotchner was forced into doing the jobs of two people, and he chose to delegate some of his duties in the BAU to subordinates to lighten his load."

"But the implication still stands that Agent Hotchner caved under pressure. Like the old saying goes, _if you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen_." Menzies, retorted.

Barbara Menzies was a no-nonsense kind of woman. If you considered a morbidly obese lesbian with a mannish haircut to be lacking in nonsense.

Jennifer Jareau had to sit their and stone-facedly accept the rueful criticism she, and her team, was receiving.

"Next question. Senator Zorn has the floor." Chairman John Van Dyke said, wanting to abort as quickly as possible the tense interaction between Barbara Menzies and Jennifer Jareau.

"Agent Jareau, it seems to me that this whole situation could have been avoided had the rest of your team simply been told about this in the first place. Could you speak to that, please?"

It was all true. The Behavioural Analysis Unit had been savaged when their unit chief was forced to take on other duties, and the damage only increased because of all the secrets and lying surrounding Prentiss's faked death. But JJ couldn't admit that. Not publicly, anyway.

"Dr. Robert Fife's office." Said the voiced on the other end of the telephone.

"Ah, yes, is he in?" Spencer Reid inquired while sitting in his apartment, looking at the hearings on TV, which he had on mute.

"One moment, I'll go see." Dr. Fife's receptionist said to Reid.

One of life's great mysteries, Reid mused to himself, was how a man's own secretary couldn't know off the top of her head whether or not her boss was 'in'. After that fleeting thought, Reid acquainted himself with the music of Kenny G which, surprisingly, sounded just as good over the phone as it did on the radio.

"Dr. Fife." The neurologist stated into the phone, as if to re-affirm his own identity.

"Hello, Doctor. This is Spencer Reid. I was in to see you a few weeks ago, and I was told that my test results should be in today."

"Oh, right." Dr. Fife said, hoping that by hesitating it would be somehow possible to escape from this interaction. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

_Author's Note:_

_ I would really appreciate some suggestions on where I might take this story from here. I have a rough idea myself, but extra input is more than welcome._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI – _Washington, D.C. – September, 2011_

Jennifer Jareau felt like hell. She just wanted to crawl into a cave and die right now. In fact, that sounded better to her than what she was actually doing at the moment. In actuality, she was just sitting in her car, with her eyes closed and her forehead resting on the bar of the steering wheel.

She'd had one of the most stressful days of her life today, having testified before the Senate Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs. Despite her happiness that today was behind her, she realized that she now had to face tomorrow. Currently, she had no way of knowing what tomorrow would bring. Right now, she made a steadfast effort to put today's troubles behind her and she was just looking forward to seeing Henry and unwinding with Will.

The drive home to Quantico, VA was relatively uneventful. It was a little early in the season for the leaf-peepers to be at full strength, but the two-lane Virginia State Highway still had its fair share of Buicks creeping along while drivers and passengers alike oohed and ahhed at the occasional flaming maple.

As Jennifer pulled of the highway, she noticed a somewhat ominous black SUV seemed to be following her as she travelled on the local side streets approaching her home. The SUV was similar in appearance to the vehicles the BAU drove, but it was lacking the distinctive government license plates. Normally, Jennifer wouldn't have given that vehicle a second thought, but she found herself, as did her fellow-team members, operating under a kind of 'new normal'. How could she not, given everything that had happened in the past four months.

The vehicle eventually turned off into a local plaza and JJ, quite relieved, made her way home. Pulling in to her driveway, JJ couldn't wait to get inside and just relax.

_Lake Pleasant, VA – September, 2011_

"I never could figure out what the ponies were supposed to do." David Rossi explained, referring to the knight as Jason Gideon attempted to teach Rossi the game of chess for the umpteenth time in their association.

It wasn't that David Rossi wasn't intelligent enough to understand chess; it's just that he found the game to be a tedious waste of time. Glancing at his watch, Gideon was surprised to see the time.

"It's almost midnight."

"You're kidding." Rossi said, looking at his own watch to verify.

After Gideon got in his car and headed home, Rossi reflected on the catching up he'd done with Jason. They spent a large chunk of the day just solving the world's problems – that is to say, coming up with their own solutions to global warming, the US dependency on foreign oil, nuclear proliferation, etc. It was a good day.

After a while, Rossi sat down with a tuna-fish sandwich and watch the late local news from Virginia Beach. Not surprisingly, the only story they focused on was the senate hearing. Rossi didn't need the talking heads on the news to dissect what he'd seen for himself earlier in the day.

After letting Mudgie go out to pee one last time, David Rossi went to bed, realizing that he'd have to get back to his writing in the morning. No more procrastination.

_Paris, France – June, 2011 _

"Hey, there!" Rex Goldman shouted as he sat down next to Derek Morgan on Air France Flight 173 Paris-Washington, D.C.

"Hello." Morgan responded. The beleaguered FBI agent really didn't feel like talking, but since he was going to be stuck next to this guy for the better part of a day, he didn't want to appear discourteous. Morgan was preoccupied with something else. He'd just determined for a fact that Emily Prentiss was alive and well, and had recently been in Paris. It angered him so much to think that Hotch, JJ, and Prentiss had basically lied outright to the rest of the team. Rex Goldman, however, didn't know that's what was going through Derek Morgan's mind as their plane sat on the tarmac.

"So, buddy, what's your line?" Goldman inquired.

Morgan, having not been able to ignore his seatmate, responded "Pardon?"

"What's your line of work? Insurance, hardware, leather goods?"

"I'm with the FBI."

"I guess I'd better not tell ya what – or who's – in my suitcase then."

Morgan feigned amusement at Rex Goldman's stupid joke. Goldman continued, "Well, I'm in women's' underwear."

This comment aroused Morgan's curiosity to a point where he could actually pay attention somewhat to what the man next to him was saying. "What?"

"It's supposed to be a joke. I sell women's underwear for a living, so I like to tell people 'I'm in women's underwear'. It usually gets a pretty good laugh. Of course, I hadn't met you yet. Why don't you try to guess my age. "

"I don't think so."

"Come on, it'll be fun. Here's a hint – I'm a lot younger than I look."

"Okay, I'd guess you were fifty."

Rex Goldman now felt a bit depressed. "Fifty? You think I _look _over fifty? I'm thirty-two. For heavens' sake."

"Sorry, man." Morgan said, still feeling preoccupied.

"That's okay. I'm not really mad. If I were mad I'd have punched your lights out. But I guess doing that to an FBI man wouldn't be a good idea, anyway."

In all honesty, Morgan was just as happy to have a character like this sitting beside him for his trip across the Atlantic, because it would distract him from just feeling angry and upset about this situation with Prentiss.

After the flight attendant was through with her safety demonstrations on what to do if the plane crashes, Goldman commented "Who needs those sissy floating pillows. If this plane goes down, my floatation device is the person next to me."

_Baghdad, Iraq – June, 2011 _

Emily Prentiss sat in the back of an armoured truck with Martin Connors seated across from her. The conditions were dark as their vehicle was driven to the Baghdad International Airport from the American Embassy in Iraq.

After getting to the airport, Martin Connors accompanied Emily Prentiss where a non-descript Cessna was waiting to take Emily to an unknown location elsewhere.

Emily Prentiss, now known as Christine Ryan boarded the plane, which took Emily out of Iraq. Emily didn't know where she was going, and neither did Martin Connors. The destination of Emily's plane hadn't even been decided on yet.

All Emily knew was her new name and that she was going to have to start all over again – again.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter VII – _Quantico, VA – September, 2011 _

Dr. Spencer Reid lay in bed, unable to sleep. He was just thinking about where he'd go from here. He knew there was a problem, but he didn't _really _think it would be this. _Schizophrenia?_ Thankfully, Reid had been acutely aware of the symptoms for a very long time since his mother suffered from the same affliction, so Dr. Fife had been able to discover the illness early.

Looking at the digital clock on his nightstand, he couldn't see it. He had a stack of books blocking it, having spent the afternoon catching up on his Dickens. Pushing the books off to the side, he saw that it was 2:17. He hadn't slept all night and didn't think he would at this rate. What did it matter anyway? Reid didn't have to go into work the following day, or the day after that, or the day after that. With all the turmoil at the office, Reid was glad he at least some time to decompress and face the future as well as life with schizophrenia.

In the morning, Reid would be going in to Dr. Fife's office in the morning to discuss a plan of action for the illness (medications, treatments, so forth). He knew how that would go. He didn't want to think about that right now. Instead, he turned on his bedside lamp and picked up his copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_, but he quickly lost interest. _'It was the best of times; it was the worst of times'. I'm not reading three-hundred pages if he can't make up his mind in the first sentence._ Now, Spencer Reid was left with one option: counting sheep while staring at the ceiling in his bedroom.

_Washington, D.C. – September, 2011 _

Aaron Hotchner stared out the window of his hospital room. Not that he could see much, given that it was the middle of the night, but he was just thinking about how crappy he felt. His heart felt so tense from his setback earlier in the day, that he had not yet recovered. It had been good to see Jack that afternoon, but he still didn't like having his son see him in the state he was in. He thought – and rightly so – that he looked extremely frail.

Hotchner spent the rest of his night watching a late movie being shown on television. He wasn't too enthralled by 'Austin Powers: The Spy who Shagged Me', but he'd take what he could get at this point,

Across the Potomac River, Derek Morgan, sound asleep by now, felt a sense of relief combined with anxiety. Although, Jennifer Jareau's testimony earlier had portrayed him in a reasonably favourable light, he still couldn't be certain what his future held. He just wanted to go back to work.

Erin Strauss was still in her office, going over various paperwork, all the while hemming and hawing over what should be done about the Behavioural Analysis Unit.

At present, however, Strauss found herself pondering the direction her life had gone in. _Surely there are better ways of making a living than this_. Here she was, fifty-two years old and a Section Chief in the FBI. Sure, the title sounded important, but in her entire career she had spent all of five days in the field. She was in her current position because she specialized in fat-cutting and bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo, fiscal restraint currently a top priority of every government operation.

This wasn't how she had wanted her life to turn out. Looking at a picture of herself with David Rossi and Max Ryan, dated 1987, she though of her rebellious youth. She was railroaded by her father, himself a long-time associate of J. Edgar Hoover, into joining the FBI after graduating from George Brown University with a degree in commerce. She'd wanted to go to law school to become a tax lawyer, to help people overcome the bureaucracy. And now here she was, a chief player in just that, a bureaucracy. The irony was rich.

As she sat at her desk wondering what might have been, she picked out of the recycling bin a flyer she had received earlier in the week from the American Cancer Society, and weighed her current options.

_Quantico, VA – June, 2011 _

"What?" David Rossi inquired further, pretending he hadn't heard his friend Aaron Hotchner the first time.

"Emily is alive. JJ and I had to fake her death to protect her – and us."

As David Rossi sat there in stunned silence, he felt hurt that Aaron didn't trust him to keep this secret sooner, which brought Rossi to his next inquiry.

"Why _can _you tell me this now?" Rossi asked, thoroughly confused about this last point he raised.

"Garcia found out that Morgan flagged Prentiss' case file because he overheard JJ and me discussing Prentiss' death." Hotch explained, realizing that what he just said made more sense before he actually said it.

"So you think Morgan's on some sort of wild goose chase to find Prentiss?" Rossi asked.

"Or kill Ian Doyle. Or both."

"I take it you haven't shared this with Reid yet?"

"I thought it would be best to do it individually."

Rossi left Aaron Hotchner's office, concerned about the ramifications of his role in all this stuff (bringing JJ back and so forth) and on the consequences in which this might result. Anger over all the secrets and lying was a mere afterthought.

_Comments and questions are encouraged. _

Criminal Minds'_ seventh season premieres Wednesday, September 21__st__ at 9:00PM on CBS and CTV, featuring the triumphant return of Paget Brewster and A.J. Cook, as well as a guest appearance from _Desperate Housewives _alum Mark Moses. _

_The new season is gonna be sick! (The good kind of sick – not the bed-ridden, needing-antibiotics kind of sick. You know, like the kids say these days. . . never mind.) _


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